


Celebration. Memorial. Date.

by jupiter_james



Series: Burn Down the Sky Universe [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Date, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long time in coming, Steve Cortez and James Vega have their first date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebration. Memorial. Date.

"Hey, James. James. Vega, hey."

James digs himself out from the equipment locker to glare at Ashley. That tone is never a good sign coming from her. Even worse, Vakarian is standing right behind her with a shit-eating grin on his smug face. James takes a step back into the room, feeling more than slightly cornered. "What?" He barely resists the urge to hold his hands up in defense. 

"Someone's here to see you," Garrus takes the liberty of saying in his dry, deadpan voice that James can never wrap his head around. Was the guy just never serious, or _always_ serious? Probably the former since his face had a nearly constant smirk fixed in place. It was his resting expression and it made James constantly uneasy.

"What are you talking about?" he asks with both curiosity and doubt. He didn't have any family anywhere near Virmire, and all of his friends wouldn't send a messenger to find him since they worked in the same damn station.

Ashley shoves Garrus to the side. "Ignore him. Steve is asking for you. Something about the service order you put in last week?"

Esteban. Right. The repairs to the engine. "Okay. Yeah. See ya." He ducks out of the narrow room, unable to avoid the bump on his shoulder from Garrus as Ashley spins around to grin at him. He pretends like he can't hear them, following at a distance in his wake, their low voices carrying across the echoing corridor to the equipment bay.

"Is today finally going to be the day?" _Shut up, Ash._

"Did the sun rise in the east?"

"Naturally."

"Then, no." _Fuck_ off _, Garrus._

Most of the time, James is more than able to shake off ribbing. They're firefighters. Teasing and hazing and jokes are how they pass the time. Cope with the hard calls. But as thick as everyone claims James to be in both mind and body, he knows that their teasing is born of genuine interest. That bothers him. They _wanted_ him and Steve to hook up. Or... date. Or whatever. And the more they goaded him on, the less able he was to ignore Steve. But fuck, man, they'd known each other for _years_. The pubescent high school years, aching college years, and still today when everything was more subtle. If something was gonna happen, it would have, right? James shakes his head. Of course it would have. Not like James hadn't tried. Sort of. He'd asked Esteban out... _sort_ of. They'd been to noisy bars and quiet restaurants together, just the two of them. And inevitably, James had become _that_ guy. The confidant. Never the date. He'd heard all about the rise and fall of Shepard. The courting and marriage of Robert. Then... _fuck_ , man! James was probably the only person in the world who knew the entire story of Steve and Robert. At first he had the distinct impression that Steve was trying to chase him away with all the gory details, but James wasn't the type to cut tail and run. They'd been _friends_ forever. That wasn't gonna just change because Steve was struggling.

After grabbing two sodas from the kitchen on his way out, James finds his buddy leaning against the front of the engine, facing out and watching the traffic on the main road through the open bay door. He catches the can easily as James lobs it towards him.

" _Hola_ , Esteban," James said with false lightness he knows Steve will swallow and ignore. They both know it's not about the service request. Steve took care of that last week.

"Mr. Vega," Steve answers. It's an automatic response, but full of warmth all the same. "Got a minute?"

"Sure. Slow day. Let's take a walk."

Steve pushes off of the engine and follows James down the driveway. Neither of them really care about walking, but every step gets them further away from eavesdroppers who aren't quite shameless enough to make their presence entirely known. They approach the wrought iron benches near the grills at the end of the drive just as a short, dark-skinned boy comes screaming up the drive on a bright, red bicycle.

"In the mess, Matt!" James calls over his shoulder.

"THANK YOU MISTER VEGA!" comes the hollered reply.

Steve chuckles as he takes a seat. "Who was that?"

"Kaidan's little _amigo_. Think he's got a puppy crush goin' on." He sits down heavily next to Steve and drapes his arm over the back of the bench. He can't tell for sure, but it seems like Steve leans back further just to press against his forearm lightly.

"You been watching the news?" he asks, seemingly out of the blue.

James knows, though. "Off and on. Figured I'd wait to hear the verdict from you. Seemed like the right thing to do." He squints up at the hazy fading sunlight, trying his best not to react to Steve shuddering beside him and folding forward, head in his hands. James just waits.

Finally, Steve mumbles, "three years, James. Three _years_ , and that bastard's finally behind bars. Forever. He won't hurt anyone else ever again like he did me and Robert."

Now is not the time for idle, easily-misinterpreted gestures, so James plants his large hand on the back of Steve's neck and rubs soothing circles, still watching the sunset. "Let me buy you a drink," he says with more meaning than normal.

Steve nods into his hands. "I'd like that."

* * *

It's probably too much to hope for calling their evening out a 'date,' but it counts to James. He even went straight to Anderson's office after Steve had accepted the invitation and said, "Virmire won't burn down without me for the night, will it?"

Anderson had smiled and waved him off. "Justice was served today. We're all praying for Steve. Go take care of him."

Celebration. Memorial. Date. It confuses him. He wants to ask, but that's impossible. They haven't gone to the usual dive near the station. Instead, Steve had held his passenger side door open to James and taken him to the Skylounge in the middle of the city. James himself has only been there once before to put out a kitchen fire, and had felt extremely out of place just _being_ there. It was fancy in a way his family had never even considered. Understated tables and chairs that felt expensive the second you sat in them. Panoramic views of the whole city from every table spread along the windows, with a mirror and glass bar stretching across the middle of the floor. James remembers tiptoeing across the carpet as best he could in his heavy boots.

Now he was here in his cheap suit and glad it was a Friday, and that his _abuela_ demanded only two things of her family, no matter where they ran off to. Sunrise Mass on Friday and evening Mass on Sunday. But God was looking out for him. Otherwise he would have shown up here in jeans instead, and this was the sort of place that turned people away for being underdressed, even if those underdressed people were guests of the hotel below.

"Never been here before as a customer," James murmurs to Steve as they step out of the fancy elevator into the fancy hallway and turn towards the fancy host at the door of the restaurant. James doesn't know why he keeps his voice down, but it's also probably the right thing to do.

Steve grins. "Neither have I. Always wanted to, but never had the excuse. Relax. I'm buying." He'd even made a reservation, the host checking his clipboard and immediately leading them to the west-facing windows and a table near a water feature that partially hid the table from the rest of the place. James wonders if Steve has paid for the semi-seclusion, too as he sits down and carefully unfolds his napkin to rest in his lap.

For his part, Steve expertly orders the appetizers and the first round of beers with a smile that illustrates his comfort in situations like this. Celebration. Memorial. Date. The first round is a celebration. Their fancy beers arrived in fancy frosted glasses and Steve holds his up. James taps the rims together. "Thanks for celebrating with me," Steve says.

James rubs the back of his neck, not sure if he's supposed to like the high gravity brew hitting the back of his tongue or not. "Wouldn't miss it," he answers as the spinach and artichoke dip is placed between them with an assortment of fancy bread slices and chips. _This_ shit, he does like. He's never tasted anything quite like it and Steve chuckles again when James has the audacity to knock his chip out of the way when they go for the dip together before pausing to peruse the menu. James skims the entrees and bites his bottom lip. None of them have prices listed and James hasn't the first clue how to tell what item would be more expensive than the next.

Steve doesn't miss a thing, though. "Really, James. I'm completely serious. It's on me and you can have whatever you want. My treat. In fact..." he reaches over the table and plucks the leather-bound menu from James's hand. "I'll order for the both of us. That way you don't have to feel guilty."

That makes James feel even _more_ guilty, but he keeps quiet about it because Steve looks so damn sincere. And James is floundering here. He can't keep doing that, because he knows that Steve needs something from him tonight, but James is falling behind the dance steps. He can fix it, though. He clears his throat and finishes the rest of his beer, eyes on Steve. "Anything _you_ want, Esteban," he says without his normal smile, showing Steve he's being more serious than teasing for once. "S'always been that way."

Steve blinks. His hand freezes hailing the waiter. For a horrible, heart-stopping moment, James thinks he's said something wrong, but then, Steve's smile blooms. "Good. I'm counting on that."

Their waiter approaches when Steve tips his finger again and he orders surf and turf with a top shelf whiskey. James excuses himself to the restroom, and when he returns to the restaurant, Steve has his chin in his hand, staring out at the stars and lights of Virmire.

"Nice view. Worth the price of admission," James says, pressing his warm hand to Steve's back briefly as he passes on the way to his own seat. Steve turns his head and slides one of the crystal glasses of whiskey across the table. And then he starts to talk about Robert. Memorial. Once the dam is open, it doesn't shut for awhile, but James is patient and a fine listener. Somewhere between the mortgage and the night that changed Steve's life forever, he pauses and swallows, and James takes the silence to place his hand to the middle of the table, palm up. Steve entwines their fingers before continuing on for the rest of the story that James has already heard. It's like he's trying to purge the emotions to leave only the memories, and James understands that, so he listens quietly, only untangling their hands for the server to place the entrées in front of them along with two glasses of red wine. Idly, James wonders if the server's been eavesdropping since the timing was perfect; right after Steve's talked himself out.

"You gonna be okay?" James asks as he picks up his fork and knife.

"I've _been_ okay," Steve answers, and there isn't the slightest hint of hesitation. "But now I think I'll be good." He reaches back over the table, James dropping his fork in favor of holding hands again. He loves holding hands. "Robert never wanted me to grieve forever. He told me he didn't believe in one true love."

James cocks his head to the side. "That's not romantic."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, maybe not, but it's loving, you know? It's making sure I won't be lonely and miserable forever. I'll always love Robert. He'll always be with me, but he gave me permission to move on. Be happy and keep on living. That's better than romantic."

In a heady fit from the atmosphere and alcohol, James raises Steve's knuckles to his lips before dropping his hand and grabbing his fork again. "Romance is good too, though."

Steve sits back in his chair and regards James with a grin that widens by the second. "I agree."

Date. Dessert is the date. It's crème brulee made with real vanilla beans and cheesecake made of the souls of the damned, it's all so good. James is in his element here and Steve is letting him. He's gamely eating strawberries from James's fork and smiling in that way that makes James's heart pound. And when the desert wine is finished and James is ready to throw his cards on the table with the payment for the perfect evening, Steve hands over the tab to the server in one motion, while standing from the table and leaning over it, trapping James in a kiss that is both way too much and way too little all at once. Steve is the one to both start and finish it. And when he does, James is breathless as he says, "that was my line."

Steve shakes his head. Signs the receipt. James stands. Takes Steve's hand. Leads him from the restaurant and to the elevators, down two floors. Steve doesn't question the move, or say anything as they go down the hallway five doors. There's a porter standing by the door. He nods and unlocks the door, holding it open and handing James the key as they pass him. James might not know about fancy restaurants or fancy hotels, but he does know about showing appreciation for services rendered. He tips the porter fifty bucks and shuts the door quietly, turning to find Steve standing still in the middle of the room.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"I was expecting more clichés," he admits with a small laugh, "but this is pretty classy."

James chuckles and walks further in. "Give me _some_ credit, Esteban."

But the demure flower arrangement and iced champagne are quickly forgotten as Steve turns and walks straight into James's arms. "I like it when you call me that," he murmurs before closing his lips over James's, and this time it's longer and deeper and there are hands wandering everywhere since there aren't any rules about polite displays of affection when they're alone. Everything about Steve is warm. His lips and searching tongue. James is dizzy from the booze, but even more from the skill and gentleness Steve shows while he's exploring with his mouth and callused hands. James feels every single button snap open on his shirt while Steve undoes them all without even looking at his hands, slipping his palms underneath and dipping low to tug the undershirt out from the dress pants. When his fingers touch James's abs, the muscles jump and at the same time, Steve lets out a small sound like a captured sigh against his mouth.

"Been thinking about this for a long time," he admits.

James's head falls onto Steve's shoulder and he's a lot clumsier as he fumbles with his partner's tie and then the buttons on his shirt. But he's careful because the fabric feels expensive. It's forgotten soon enough as he slides it over Steve's shoulders, and then they're both pulling off their undershirts, naked from the waist up. The break in contact makes James suddenly realize how damn _shy_ he is. He doesn't know what to say, but Steve isn't shy at all. It had been such a long time in coming that he's open in looking his fill at James's tattoos and running his hands over the toned muscles Vega's so proud of. His body is the one thing he's got in the end, and he's taken pains over the years to make it his best asset since he wasn't much for the book learning or anything else.

"You're a marvel," Steve says softly, and when he steps back in for another kiss, his hard-on is obvious. Just from looking and Steve is already so hard? That makes James swallow hard and nearly choke on the kiss.

He gently pulls on Steve's arms and walks them back towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Steve stumbles a bit against him and slides down to his knees; perfectly at eye level with James's belt buckle. His grin is quick and full of mischief. "Well, this is a perfect position," he says, reaching for James's cheap belt and opens his pants with a flourish. He doesn't waste a movement taking removing the offending layer of clothing, boxers disappearing with it, and James is nearly embarrassed with his dick standing hard and proud with almost no provocation, but Steve stares at it hungrily as he removes the rest of his clothes and licks his lips. He doesn't even glance up when he leans forward towards it, James's hips twitching slightly in anticipation. "Can I..?"

James nods frantically. "Sure. I mean... yeah, I'd love it."

He doesn't exactly know what to expect, but it's hardly the worship Steve lavishes on him. This time he does look up and meet James's eyes with warmth. "You can come anytime you want. Don't hold back." Then his lips are kissing the head of James's dick, getting a feel for the entire length. The tip of his tongue traces over the vein down his length as his left hand cups his balls, rolling them gently.

"Fuck," James breathes, stroking Steve's head a little desperately. 

Steve works his way back up the shaft, sucking unhurriedly at the head before leaning up higher on his knees and swallowing James so slowly it's all the larger man can do to keep his hips from thrusting off the bed and choking his lover. He closes his eyes tightly, lips parting on a long moan, and only just getting used to the incredible sensation before Steve is pulling back and James opens his eyes in time to see him digging into the inside pocket of his jacket.

James catches his breath before saying, "there's condoms on the table."

Grinning, Steve holds up a small bottle. "Not what I was going for. We won't need condoms tonight. We're getting better acquainted tonight. The rest will happen later. Scoot up and lay back. Relax."

James complies, and Steve doesn't leave him waiting for more than a few seconds. He's climbing up onto the bed and leaning over James like a large cat. "You'll like this," he murmurs, popping open the cap on the bottle and swooping down for another kiss, and shortly thereafter, James is arching off the bed and cursing loudly as Steve slips one lubed finger inside of him, seeming to know exactly where that sweet spot is as he pushes in to his knuckle and then withdraws with a smooth motion. James has never felt anything like this in his life and it's almost enough to make him black out. But he can't do that because then he'd miss something, and to _hell_ with that.

All he can do is gasp and brokenly whisper, "more. Fuck, please, _more_ , Esteban."

Steve says nothing in answer, though actions are much better at this point in their evening. His mouth is back on James's dick, just as toes-curlingly delicious as before, the same finger thrusting in and out, but his other hand is working his own dick this time. James peeks his eyes open to see Steve fumble with the bottle of lube when his mouth takes a brief interlude. Oh. This is something he can help with. He grabs the bottle and opens it again, tipping his head and whispering, "c'mere."

Steve moves to sit up better, spreading James's legs wide and scoots between them, tangling up their legs so that their dicks are rubbing together. James squirts some of the lube into his palm, and with only slight hesitation, reaches out and takes Steve in hand. He doesn't know how other men like to be touched, so he strokes his lover like he strokes himself when he's having a particularly good fantasy. Slow and firm, his large hand not having to work too hard to pump Steve into his fist. And he can't help it. He has to touch himself, too. Steve's finger inside him, moving faster now, just isn't enough, even though it's amazing. 

One hand now free, Steve bows back slightly, his muscles twitching and his face drawn tight with ecstasy. He braces just above James's knee, fucking into his hand over and over. "I'm about to-"

"Yeah."

Then Steve is coming and it looks as hot as it feels in James's soaked hand. He watches in wonder, not bothering to bite back his own cry as he comes a second later, spilling over his stomach and a little on his chest. Fuck. _Fuck_ , it feels so good. He can't seem to untangle them or remove his hand from their waning erections for a long moment. But when he does, Steve is grinned with an exhausted expression before sliding from the bed and coming back a moment later with two damp washcloths for the both of them to clean up with. He digs around in their discarded clothes for their boxers, handing those over as well.

James raises his hips off the bed to pull his one, not moving too much otherwise. Steve turns the covers down and shoves James to the side with a laugh as he resists moving even for that much. But the large firefighter relents, tucking himself in.

Cuddling is something else he has no idea how to do, but Steve has that covered as well. It takes a bit of adjusting to find the right position for the both of them, but eventually James is flat on his back, Steve on his side, an arm draped over James's chest, their legs entwined. It's the most comfortable James has ever been in his life.

"Thank you," Steve says.

"Don't even," James answers.

"Okay," Steve says with a tired smile and a kiss against his cheek. "I won't."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift fic for [fragilespark](http:fragilespark.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, who agreed to do a trade piece of art in exchange for a fic! Her stuff is AMAZING and I can't wait to post it and show it to you in the next chapter of Burn Down the Sky)


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